


On the 'Morrow He Will Leave Me

by theroadgoeson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU- role reversal, AU-kind of, Angst, I think I have an angst obsession., Johnlock - Freeform, ansty again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:04:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroadgoeson/pseuds/theroadgoeson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock couldn't save John. As per request of Lillkin, a companion story to As My Hopes Have Flown Before. (Yes, the titles are consecutive lines from The Raven. No, I'm not sorry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the 'Morrow He Will Leave Me

Sherlock held John's body in his hands. He grasped the body of his only friend tightly in his arms. He cried. Sherlock never cried, but for this, this one thing, he did. His only friend. His conductor of light. His John.

The paramedics took the body away. They wheeled it away on a gurney into the cold, unwelcoming walls of the hospital. There would be an investigation, like all gunshot cases. They would find nothing. Moriarty may be dead, but his empire would still hide all his tracks. John would never get justice. Even Sherlock couldn't deliver it, not when he was broken like he was.

Mycroft once told Sherlock caring is not an advantage. It was just now when Sherlock realized how true that was.

Sherlock looked down at his sleeves and torso. Both were drenched in blood. John's blood. Sherlock would never wear or wash those clothes again.

Sherlock went home. He avoided Mycrofts attentions. He didn't sleep. He only thought.

He thought of John.

He thought of light.

He thought of darkness.

The funeral was sparsely attended, just Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Harry, and a few of John's old army friends. Sherlock stood in the background. Everyone thought he should make a speech, but he left that job for Harry. Sherlock stayed behind. He saw the gravestone placed over the mound of earth. He stared at it. It was simple- gray, utilitarian. It did not have an epitaph, only John's name. Sherlock left.

Sherlock stayed at the flat. He did nothing. He simply sat and stared at the wall.

One day, though he knew it was stupid, he texted John.

I haven't taken any cases. Life's incredibly boring without you.

-SH

I can't think clearly anymore. Every thought leads back to you.

-SH

I tried taking a case. Double murder- decapitation. Solved within five minutes. You were missed at the crime scene.

-SH

Mycroft stopped by. He told me I've lost weight. He tried to get me to eat, I played the violin until he left.

-SH

I don't play the violin anymore. It doesn't help. Not with this.

-SH

I always thought I could keep myself away from love, but I guess you changed that. I'm a wreck now.

-SH

I don't know who to go to John. I miss you.

-SH

I'm in the hospital now. I collapsed from exhaustion and starvation. You would've been so mad.

-SH

The nurses said I couldn't text in the hospital. I convinced them to let me. I don't know why I keep doing this. It really is stupid.

-SH

I had a dream I was released from the hospital and you were there to take me home. I wish that were the case. I miss you, John.

-SH

I came home from the hospital today. I couldn't do anything. I just sat there. I wish you could be here, making tea.

-SH

I wonder what love is. Dictionary definitions aren't really clear. I wonder if I love you. Maybe that's why this hurts so much.

-SH

I try thinking, or reading, or experimenting. Nothing works. It's like you killed my brain when you died. Now all I'm left with is a heart.

-SH

I think I love you, John. I'm not sure, but everytime I think about you or that day, I cry. I've been crying a lot lately. More than I think I've ever cried in my entire life.

-SH

It feels like a hole has been ripped out of my chest. I have nothing left. I don't have the Work and I don't have you.

-SH

I want it to stop, John. This pain. Why does it hurt? You were always so much better at this emotion thing that I was.

-SH

Make it stop, John, please. I feel like my entire soul is gone.

-SH

This hole is eating me from the inside out. I don't know how much longer I can handle it.

-SH

Why did I even have to become a detective. If I never did that, then I never would have met Moriarty, and he wouldn't have killed you. You're dead because of me, John. I as good as pulled the trigger.

-SH

Sometimes I wish I never met you. I wouldn't be like this then. But then I think about how much you did for me. And I can't think like that.

-SH

I wonder what it's like when you die. That's one of the things I never knew. I wonder where you are now. Probably in Heaven- if there is one. You were a good man, John Watson. I probably wouldn't go there.

-SH

I was always so selfish. I never did anything for you, did I? I wish I did. I wish I showed you how much I really cared.

-SH

I wonder if I would go to Heaven or Hell? I've never believed in that, though. I wonder what would happen if I died. I wonder if I would see you again. I would be happy then.

-SH

I don't know how I can handle this. Every day it feels like a weight is pressing on my stomach. I killed you. You wouldn't have died if I hadn't walked into your life. If I never offered you the flat. If I never took you to that first crime scene. I killed you, John. I can't handle it. I hope you'll forgive me.

-SH

The pain is getting worse, John. I've done plety of things to deserve this, I just wish my actions didn't take you down with me.

-SH

Please don't hate me, John. I don't know what I would do if you did.

-SH.

I can't speak anymore. Everytime I try, my voice get's choked up. You've become a constant in my life- but now all I feel is guilt.

-SH

I hate myself. I could have saved you if I figured out Moriarty's problem earlier. I was so stupid. I'll never be able to say sorry enough.

Please don't hate me. I can't take it.

-SH

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, dressing gown hanging off his shoulders. For weeks he hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, only moving his hands to text John. He sat with a pen and paper in front of him, leaving a note for whoever found him, giving a short explanation of his actions. John would get a separate one- a private one. He finished his written note and picked up his phone.

Comming immediately.

-SH

He picked up a syringe filled with enough cocaine to take down a much larger man than he. He stabbed it into his arm and pulled it out. He laid his head down on the table and closed his eyes, the hint of a smile forming on his face. Five minutes later he had a seizure and died, still hinting at a smile.


End file.
